Sleeping With Paris (24 page)

So, even though my instincts weren’t agreeing with my blog that night, I pushed my doubts aside and allowed Brad to take me.

He slid my slinky black dress over my head, took off his shirt, and kissed me from head to toe. After slipping off my lacy black bra and panty set, he picked me up, laid me down on the bed, and buried me beneath his tan, cut body.

As his hands roamed over my skin, I felt disconnected from myself, as if it was some other girl—a girl I didn’t know anymore—lying there under the weight of his touch, going through the motions.

Brad leaned down, and as he grabbed a condom from his jeans pocket, two more condoms spilled to the ground. It was clear that he hadn’t been planning on feeding me hot chocolate and giving me presents all night long.

After slipping on condom number one, Brad lifted his muscular body back on top of me, then pushed into me with the force of a Clydesdale. After a few strokes, I started to adjust to the feeling of him inside of me, and I forced myself to get into it. I replayed the lessons I had laid out on my blog over and over in my head. Every time Luc’s lovable smile entered my mind, I pushed it out. I tried to focus on Brad, on his intoxicating scent that threatened to envelop me as he thrust further and further into me. On his eyes, burning into mine as he pleasured himself.

But, no matter how hard I tried to enjoy the feeling of Brad’s hands all over me, I couldn’t. It just didn’t feel right.

“Charlotte, you’re so damn sexy,” he whispered in my ear. And then, not long after he’d begun, he moaned and collapsed on top of me.

Moments later, once he caught his breath, he rolled over to his side and closed his eyes. I held my breath, hoping he would just fall asleep. Low and behold, after about two minutes, Brad began snoring.

I tip-toed out of bed and into the bathroom. As I flipped on the light and leaned into the porcelain sink to wash my face, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I didn’t see the sexy, confident woman that Brad had seen earlier in the night. I saw a scared, sad, shell of a woman. I wasn’t sure what would fill this shell, or if it would ever be filled.

***

On Christmas morning, I awoke not to the sound of a fire crackling in the hearth or to the scent of pine needles and sugar cookies and cinnamon, but instead to the sound of Lexi sobbing in the hotel suite. I jolted out of bed, her cries startling me from my sleep. The dim morning light beaming through the window revealed an empty side of the bed where Brad would've been.

Lexi’s muffled cries grew louder as I ran, disheveled and disoriented, through the suite. In the second bedroom, I found Brad leaning his forehead against a closed bathroom door, Lexi howling on the other side. Dylan was nowhere in sight.

“Lexi, open the door,” Brad said.

She didn't respond. Instead she wailed louder.

“Lexi, open the door
now
.” Exhaustion outlined his profile as he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Brad, what's going on? What happened?” I asked.

Brad turned to me, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale and sunken in. He shook his head. “It's best if you leave, Charlotte. I'm sorry.”

“Is she going to be okay? Did something happen with Dylan? Maybe I can talk to her.”

Brad walked toward me, wincing as another anguishing sob emanated from the bathroom. “Trust me, she won't want you to see her like this. I can handle her. I . . . I'm the
only
one who can handle this.”

“But—”

“Please, just go, Charlotte.”

By the time I gathered my things, Lexi’s cries had only intensified, and she still hadn't opened the bathroom door. I tried one more time to see if I could help, but Brad only waved me away.

As I rode the pristine elevator down to the ground floor, I wondered what in the hell was going on? What could've happened to Lexi to make her so upset? And where was Dylan? Had he tried to hurt her? What did Brad mean when he'd said that only
he
could handle this? Was there something I didn't know about Lexi?

Even as I walked through the gorgeous lobby, I could still hear Lexi’s loud, gut-wrenching sobs ringing through my ears. I really hoped that whatever had happened, she would be okay. I only wished I could've helped.

“
Joyeux Noël, Mademoiselle
,” the doorman said with a smile as I exited the lobby.

“
Et vous aussi, Monsieur
,” I responded, realizing that today would probably be the
least
merry of Christmases I'd ever had.

I checked my phone to see if Luc had called or sent me a text message. He hadn’t. In fact, I had no missed calls. No text messages.

I wandered alone down the deserted Champs-Elysées, the bitter cold air stinging my finger tips and turning my nose bright red. On the busiest street in Paris, there was hardly a soul in sight. The hoards of miniature cars that normally sped up and down the avenue had disappeared. The tourists had vanished. Even the rows of trees that had been so lovely and magical the night before now appeared barren, their skinny branches reaching in vain toward the cloudy, gray sky.

It seemed that everyone in the world had somewhere important to be on Christmas morning.

Everyone but me.

I thought of my parents and wondered where they were, and if they were feeling as hollow as I was. Even though it was the middle of the night in Florida, where my mom was now living with my aunt, I dialed her cell.

After five rings, she picked up, but instead of hearing her voice, I heard booming bass and men shouting.

“Mom?” I yelled into the phone. “Mom, are you there?”

“Hello? Charlotte, is that you?” she yelled back over the raging music.

“Yeah, Mom. It’s me. Where are you?”

“Oh, Charlotte! I’m so glad you called. Hold on, let me just get around the pool so I can hear you. This DJ is amazing!”

She was at a pool party on Christmas Eve? With a DJ? Was this really my mom?

“Whew, okay that’s a little better. Can you hear me?” she screamed into the phone.

“Um, yeah, I can hear you now. What’s going on?”

“Oh, Aunt Liza threw a big Christmas Eve bash, and you should just see all the beautiful men that came out. You know Aunt Liza, she always knows how to have a good time.”

But you hate Aunt Liza.

“Isn’t it like four in the morning there? You’re still up?” I asked her.

“Oh, is it that late? I didn’t even notice, I’ve just been whooping it up all night! Oh dear, my bikini is falling down. Hold on just one sec. Oh . . . oh, there we go. All set. Gotta keep those babies into place.”

Oh dear. My fifty-five year old mother who was usually wearing a red and green Christmas tree sweatshirt for the holidays was wearing a bikini? I had
never
seen her wear a bikini. Ever. I had no words.

“It’s so much fun here, Charlotte. You really should’ve come out for Christmas. I could’ve introduced you to Frank. He’s Dave’s son, and you would love him. He’s a real hottie.”

“Who’s Dave?”

“Oh, this wonderful man that Aunt Liza introduced me to. But don’t worry dear, I’m not getting married again or anything silly like that. Just dating around and having my fun. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this for the last thirty years!”

You missed out on this because you had me and Dad. Remember?

“I just wanted to call to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks, dear. You too. I miss you so much and wish you were here. Oh . . . oh!” she squealed into the phone. “Dave, stop it. I’m on the phone with my daughter.”

That was enough of that.

“Okay, Mom. It sounds like you’re busy there, so I better let you go.”

“I’m so glad you called, sweetie. Do come visit soon, okay? I’d love for you to meet everyone. I’m sure you’re having a glamorous Christmas in Paris. Love you lots! Toodooloo!”

Toodooloo?

“Bye, Mo—” I started, but she had already hung up.

I picked up my pace as I headed for the metro. After a few seconds I broke into a full-out sprint. What the hell was going on? Where did my mom go? Who was this woman? Running around in a bikini at pool parties on Christmas Eve? I’d never felt so angry in all my life. My parents had thrown away our family so they could run around and have sex with other people. It was sick.

I slowed down and caught my breath as I reached the metro. I waited alone in the drafty, underground station for fifteen minutes before the next train came, and as I climbed on board, I realized I was the only passenger.

I rode home in silence with my head in my hands, listening to the sound of the train barreling down the tracks, its doors opening and closing, but no one climbing on.

I felt so alone, in that clattering, forsaken train all by myself. I would’ve given anything to have a hug from my mom. Not the Florida pool-party mom I’d just spoken with though. I wanted my sweet, innocent Ohio mom. I wanted to tell her what was going on in my life. That I wasn’t sure if I was making the right decisions with Luc. That I felt empty and confused after what I’d done with Brad. That I couldn't get the sound of Lexi’s cries out of my head. And that I was scared. I wanted to feel my mom's soft hands stroking the back of my head, like she always used to do, and hear her soothing voice telling me everything was going to be okay. And that even if it wasn’t, she’d be here for me.

But she wasn’t here for me anymore. It was Christmas, and she didn’t even seem to care.

As the train rattled to a stop, I wrapped my violet pea coat tighter around my waist and ran across the windy, abandoned boulevard Jourdan, the masses of students having evaporated, leaving me to confront the day alone.

What was I going to do by myself on Christmas Day? I wanted to be with Luc and his family, but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. What if I committed to him and fell in love with him, only to have it end in disaster, just like my parents’ marriage? I was sure that my mom and dad hadn’t envisioned a divorce in their future when they stood up at the altar saying their vows. I was sure they’d never thought there would come a time when they wouldn’t even care to talk to their own daughter on Christmas because they’d be out partying instead.

I wouldn’t let that happen to me. Ever.

When I reached my dorm room, I cranked up the heat and bundled up in as many layers as I could pile on. I sat down at my computer, pulled up my blog, and began typing.

Merry Christmas, ladies. As I sit here shivering at my computer, I realize that I don’t have any magical formulas for you today. Just a few things I’ve picked up over the past few weeks that may help you along your journey.

Rule #1 – Avoiding relationships at all costs, as I have advised you to do, doesn’t necessarily give you a warm and fuzzy feeling at the end of the day. I still stand by my earlier statements that you should go out, date like a man and have fun without being in a relationship. It is inevitable though, that at some point, one of the men you’re dating will try to take things to the next level. And you may actually like this man. If you can continue having fun with him without committing, by all means, go for it. If you can’t see that happening because of the feelings one or both of you may have for each other, this is where you’ll have to trust your instincts. If you like him but instinctively don’t trust him, then it may be best to take a step back. Beware though, taking this step back may make you feel awful. Take comfort in remembering that marriage is likely to fail and that you may have just saved yourself from heartache.

Case in Point: After Half-Naked French Hottie took me to the ballet, he invited me to spend Christmas with him and his family. As enticing as a cozy family Christmas sounded, especially right after hearing the news of my parents’ separation, I said no. I don’t fully trust this guy. I gave him a chance to tell me that he has another woman in his life, and he denied it. But, of course he would deny it. That’s what guys do. Once, when I confronted an old boyfriend the day after he had cheated on me, he actually replied to me, “No, I could never, ever cheat on you. I love you so much. I can’t even believe you would think I could do such a thing.” See what I mean?

The downside of saying no to Half-Naked French Hottie’s invitation is that I’m spending Christmas alone in Paris, and to be honest, I feel miserable. The upside is my next point:

Rule # 2 – If given the chance, do spend a night in a lavish hotel suite with a gorgeous man, but please enjoy it more than I did.

Case in Point: Because I denied said invitation, I had the privilege of spending last night in one of the most luxurious hotels in Paris, with a male model. Okay, he wasn’t actually a male model (or maybe he was—he didn’t tell me what he did for a living), but either way, he was hot. Because I had just hurt Half-Naked Hottie’s feelings this week, I wasn’t feeling that great during what should’ve been one of the hottest, most unbelievable nights of my life. If you get this chance, please just let loose and have a kick-ass time. And then email me about it. I want to hear all the juicy details.

My next point has nothing to do with how to date like a man, but it’s Christmas, so give me a break.